


Years after the End

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Bathing/Washing, F/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Vriska finally meet face to face again for the first time since they entered the new universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Day Promised

**Author's Note:**

> Post-game AU

Vriska's footfalls made a slapping eight by eight beat against her polished floor. She paced back and forth in her underwear, and paused only to scratch her arm or her ass or wherever else decided to spite her with an itch. Dirty clothes were strewn across the floor, and a few more pieces tossed carelessly over the back of her only intact chair. She glanced up at the calendar knifed to the wall, and tried to will that little blue circle to move over to tomorrow.

She wanted to disappear. She could do it, too. Just put on her wings, fly to the dock in the big city, sneak onto a ship and blast off into space. The thought made her sick, venom in her veins that put the cold sweat on her skin and fire in her gut. Vriska loathed the sting of fear more than anything else. It was just a stupid date, dinner at eight- because he was sweet like that. She'd tangled with gods and demons, what was one silly date?

Vriska threw on her least tattered pants, the shirt with the least noticeable odor, and her jacket with only two stains down the front. She tried and failed to find a pair of socks that were more than sleeves and just stuck her red sneakers on over her bare feet.

Vriska drove to the bar, on her not at all street legal motorbike converted from a doomsday device and with a V8 engine strapped to it. The license plate read 8-8ALL but it was just a forgery to save the effort of red tape. She sped all the way there and didn't even wear a helmet. Through sheer force of luck, not a single cop so much as glanced twice at her.

She could have flown, had she chosen to, but the Thief of Light going to the pub was a whole 'nother matter than just Vriska Serket going. Amongst the faithful, there were those that considered her literally Satan, worse even than Ampora since at least with the dry footed seadweller you were either with him or against him. Then there was her own cult which was hardly better than those who called her anathema. They fancied her golden threads encompassed the whole universe, and not a single stroke of bad luck happened unless she explicitly willed it. They prayed to her to steal the luck from their enemies, offering their own luck up in payment and glorifying the idea of a system where she got paid in reward for being paid and everyone else goes broke. Suckers, every last one of them and she wanted nothing to do with them. Vriska shoved all thoughts of divinity and piety from her mind. She squeezed the accelerator, and ran a red light at eighty eight miles an hour. For a moment she fancied she might be shot back in time, like in one of the movies John had sent her. An idea started to form of just what she might do if she could kick paradox in the face, and mess about freely with the past. She threw it out when it started to put the venom back in her veins.  
Vriska skidded up the alley beside the pub, and came to a screeching halt. She captchalogued her bike in her 8-Ball modus and breathed deeply the smell of burnt rubber.

The place was called Rocket Papaya, and it had a reputation. No one could agree what that reputation was, or why it had that reputation, but it undeniably had 'A' reputation and that put it head and shoulders above the local competition. John was already waiting for her by the door.

Hi Vriska

He gave a toothy grin and waved. He'd grown his hair out into a mullet, kept the thick rimmed glasses, and although he wore an open dark green vest over a button up white shirt, Vriska would bet boonbonds to billiards he had a white wife-beater underneath it all, ready to strip down to at a moment’s notice like some street tough maverick superman.

Hi Vriska?' Hi Vr8ska!? We 8n't seen each other for y8rs and 8ll I get is a 'Hi'?

She stomped over with her hands in the air and a look of petulance on her face. John started giggling.

W8t's so funny?

Your accent. It always gets me. Whenever you get flustered you keep going 'ate' 'ate', it makes you sound really hungry.

He chucked, one hand on his chest like it was the only thing holding back a riot of laughs. Vriska's face grew hot.

F8-fine, 8e that way you 8ig dork. I dou8tlessly got nothing 8etter to do than 8e laughed at 8y a 8ucktooth 8ozo.

All those irons in the fire, right? Although I suppose just one fire isn't big enough for all your ambitions these days right? You must have hundreds of fires these days, miles and miles of red hot irons, burninating across the countryside.

I don't know what that means, 8ut yes! All of the irons in all of the fires. The molten core of this planet is an itty 8itty 8ug compared to the or8it poker that is my machinations. AHAHAHAHAHA

Hehehehehe

The sight of a blue-blood laughing manically on the sidewalk was nothing new, and nobody looked up in anything but annoyance. The echoes of the vast honk were not so easily cured from the highblood psyche, especially not when the Purple Goat of The Sea with a Thousand Horns still wandered the lands.

Well there's no point sitting out here freezing out butts off, let's go inside.

He hooked his arm around hers and rather forcefully pulled her along.

Joooooooohn

Sorry, I guess I'm just a little excited.

He slowed down once they were inside. 

But wow you're light, have you been eating properly?

He moved his arm to gently squeeze her shoulder. He could feel her muscles tightly wound against her bones. She scowled and pulled her arm away.

I'm fiiiiiiiine. Man, settle down.

Alright, I was just asking. Oh, hey, there's a seat

John took her hand in his and lead her over to a vacant table for two.

So what have you been up to, specifically? Care to share any of your Serket secret plans?

John, if I explained even one of my plans we'd be here aaaaaaaall night. 8ut I guess most of my time has 8een dedic8ted to either making money or working out what's wrong with my doomsday devices.

What do you even need doomsday doodads for anyway?

John quietly thanked the waiter when he brought over a pair of menus. He was a crew-cut indigo-blood, dressed in a blue and black suit and with teeth jutting from his lower jaw like tusks. He turned as soon as John took the menus. Vriska watched him leave with a cold, distant expression.

What's wrong?

Nah, it's nothing.

Do you know that guy?

As if!

Vriska turned away, and distracted herself by looking around the bar. A Prospitan in a fez looked to be cleaning up at the pool table; a tanned human gave a cry of triumph as he slammed an afro-wearing teal-blood's arm into the table, and then finished his beer. An oliveblood with horns like scimitars chatted up a pair of human twins by the bar. Above the bar was a taxidermied bullhead, but someone had modified it, given it a wolf's teeth and contorted its face into a twisted mockery of rage. Vriska shuddered, and slowly turned her head back to John.

It all looks like it's working, more or less.

She waved her arm about. 

8ut I don't know, was it right? Or would it have 8een 8etter to just let trolls stay extinct?

Vriska, is there something bothering you? Come on, you can talk to me. Even if it's some big secret and you can only tell me in a code that I have to piece together later.

You're such a dork, is that from another one of your stupid movies?

Is this the code? Should I be taking notes?

Ah forget it. Sorry, i guess this isn't proper conversation for a d8, human or otherwise.

Nah, it’s not about what you’re talking about, it's who you're talking with that makes the date. At least that's what I think.

John ran his finger down the menu's face, like the feel of the script beneath his skin might betray the quality of each dish. His clumsily filed nails made the slightest scraping sound as is pianist fingers dragged their path. 

Well, unless you're talking about something really weird, like what it's like to scrub birdshit off a battleship with a rusty toothbrush and a time limit, but even then for every topic there's someone out there that can make it entertaining.

Is that who you're going to 8e? The funny guy that can talk a8out anything? 8t’s a good way. You should. Forg8 this stuff a8out 8ecoming a doctor and get into show8usiness.

Vriska twined her fingers together and rested her chin on them, not even bothering to open the menu.

Hehe, if it was that simple I might, but showtime is really unforgiving. Even getting into the pub circuit puts you against a huge amount of competition. I guess I might do it a little on the side, at least while I'm still a student, but how could I just pick telling jokes over helping people?

He tapped some part of the menu three times, then placed it down on the table. Vriska scowled and waved over the indigo-blooded waiter.

Two rums, on the rocks. Hop to it.

She demanded, not looking at him. The waiter stifled a mutter, ran his hand through his short hair and walked away with a grunt of acknowledgment.

Two? Was one for me, or?

Yes, one was for you. Forg8 that, wh8t do you mean 'how could I'? You don't have to do the responsi8le thing, you're a god. You made all this,

She gestured about the bar with both arms. 

You've done your good deeds forever.

The waiter came back, and stiffly placed their drinks on the table, before turning around like a soldier about to goose-step and walking away.

I don't believe that,

John took a slow, gradual sip of his drink. 

And I don't think you do either.

Is that another li8ne from one of your dum8 movies?

Vriska rolled her eyes and took a swig of her drink. It warmed her throat, but sat heavy in her stomach like ground up stones.

The Picture of Dorian Gray, actually. Rose made me read it in exchange for watching The Wedding Planner.

Vriska gulped down another mouthful of rum. 

But I do actually mean that.

Jegus, you're starting to sound like him now.

John raised an eyebrow, but he didn't esquire any further. 

I mean why? Why go through all this effort, when you can't even save everybody? No matter how gr8t you get, there’ll still 8e people 8eyond saving. Then the people who gave a shit a8out those people will h8 you forever, 8ecause to them you're just another guy in scru8s that pro8a8ly didn't try hard enough. You're not even doing the hero thing, flying around with your hood up, swooping down and saving peasants in distress. I don't get it.

She sculled the rest of her drink and slammed the glass on the table. A part of her felt disappointed when John shrugged rather than flinched.

I'll live near forever, right? Maybe someday there won't be anything for me to offer. Maybe until then I can help more people with medicine than I can by flying around in my pajamas, or making people laugh. Wow that sounded more condescending than I meant it to. Uh, sorry, I mean I really don't know. I see all these centuries stretching out before me, and I can't help but ask 'what he fuck do I know? I'm just some guy; I got a whole lot to learn about being a god.' Except who can I learn from? Or any of us? I mean there's the horrorterrors but I'm not sure they're even as wise as they say; frankly they seem a bit messed in their reality-breaking head. Maybe we missed a step with our sessions, you know? You guys never got to go through the door and come to our universe. Maybe you would have landed in Bronze Age or something. So by the time we humans got around to playing Sburb you guys already knew all about being gods and you could have been in a better place to teach us. Or maybe you would've known for sure it's better to let us work things out for ourselves. But I'm just babbling, my whole point here is that Lord English messed a lot of things up, and maybe you guys and us, the whole lot of us, maybe be aren't as equipped for stuff as we normally should be. Wait, that's not my point. Crap, I mean, I want to learn as much as I can as fast as I can, and get a whole lot of learning done before I start living up the whole god thing, because with great power comes great big mistakes when you screw up. I think in your own way, you get that too, that's why you’re still doing your own learning instead of just appearing before your cult and being waited on hand and foot. Sure it would be nice, but it wouldn’t feel right.

Wh8t, you think I haven’t earned what I g8t?

I think you don't let yourself get anything if you're not convinced you earned it. Sorry now I'm the one talking about weird stuff. Let's order. Waiter.

John ordered a steak diane. Vriska ordered another two rums and a cluckbeast burger. She sighed and dragged her knuckle down her terse neck. Barely ten minutes in and she was already shitting up the date with crap that didn't matter. Fuck, what even was it you did on human dates? Stupid cultural gap. Humans’ dates were meant to be fun, and happy things, not wallowing in a shame filled pity-pit with all your soiled sub-bedizen up for inspection.

Forg8t it.

She gulped down the rest of her drink with a single extended swallow, and practically dropped the empty glass back onto the table. "When did you grow your hair out? It looks good on you."

Oh, this?

He gave a coy grin, and peeled away a few strands of his black mullet. Under the hot lights of the bar she could see how clean it was, especially compared to her own matted bird-catcher.

I had a feeling you might like it, growing it out was your idea in the first place.

It was? What a gr8t idea of mine then.

She noticed he didn't answer her question, but shied away from pursuing it. She could guess easily enough, the interactions of the gods were the reigning method of soothsaying, even amongst the nonfaithful. Action and reaction, when a god moves inside their universe the universe moves in accord. An eagle eye on the stars and the weather and the concentration of luck and all the myriad things could see the ripples, and work backwards to their source. Even then, none of that could stand up to the raw evidence of a handful of the pantheon publicly going by their own name everywhere anyway. John in particular had made a game of it, as far as Vriska could tell, always keeping people in a state of doubt about if they were dealing with 'the' John Egbert, or against all probability just someone with the same name and face. From what she could learn, his cult considered it a divine challenge, some of them even becoming sacred John impersonators just to fuck with everyone else. So when a person named John Egbert spends four months checked into Paris in an absurdly expensive hotel, and a certain other god's latest holy writ comes four months late, it doesn't take a hairy man up to his elbows in a sacrificial cow's intestines to work out who, where, and when.

8ut what?

What?

No, never mind. None of my 8usiness anyway, I know how to keep my nose clean.

I...see

He crooked his brow. His face was already asking what's wrong before his mouth caught up, but rather than repeat himself he just turned away. They were spared a comfortless moment by the waiter bringing over Vriska's drinks. She grabbed them right from the serving tray, and shooed the waiter way. Once alone again, she gave one to John. A trio of heavy bass notes drum up from the stage around the corner, from the pub's roadside balcony.

Oh yeah, these guys are playing here tonight.

Friends of yours?

Nah, although the drummer is in one of my electorals but we don't really talk much. But the keyboardist s really good and they have a good sound. About once a month they play at my college's pub, so I've gotten an ear for their sound.

A few more notes were plucked out, and followed by a beat on the drums.

Hello everybody. We are Ovidmosis. And this first song is called Anansi's Deluge. Alright Javerb, hit it!

The sound of drumsticks clacked together rang out four times, and was followed by the energetic ostinato of a rock ballad.

They listened and made no sound save John's quiet tapping to the keyboard's chords, and remained uninterrupted until the waiter brought out their meals. They gave the waiter a cordial thank and sent him on his way. Both meals came with a side of salad and potato. John took up is knife and his fork and tore into his steak. Vriska didn't remember him ordering it rare, but it was undercooked regardless. He cut a chunk out of it, and the smell of blood and grease flooded her nose. He washed it down with a smack of rum, and moved to sample the salad. The wet, crisp lettuce sounded almost like the crunching of fragile bone. Somewhere, some mounted the pub's mechanical bull, and the grinding of its ill-piled gears echoes from the corner. Crunch crunch grind grind smack smack gulp. Crunch crunch grind grind smack smack gulp. Vriska moves her hands t around her burger, the meal of convenience a towering mountain before her. The venom flooded into the pit of her stomach and denied her efforts to ignore it. Deep breath, and then another. There was a sound then a cry. Hot, wet liquid splashed down her face. The stink of gravy was drowning. The waiter's apologies seemed so far away. Someone else said something, was that John? She couldn't see. Vriska wiped the liquid from her eyes, and looked down. Hot, brown liquid clung to her fingers. She could feel it on her cheeks, taste it on her lips. The crunching gears of the mechanical bull droned on in the background, piercing her senses. Her whole body convulsed, starting at her thighs and rocking up to her neck. Vriska leapt from her chair and ran out the pub's side door and into an alley.

 

She shoved passed some person or another, onto scenery of grease stained cement and rat infested dumpsters. Vriska made it as far as the pair of trashcans before doubling over and retching. Three coarse, throaty coughs followed by a spilling of guts as extrusive as straight up disembowelment. Gouts of fluid gushed from her jaw and splashed against the hard ground. She coughed four times, haltingly, and hurled again. She felt something pull her hair away from her face. When the alcohol runs out, pale blue bile takes its place.

 

Hey, what's the big idea?

An unfamiliar voice. Hardly seems worth notice next to the fire in her throat.

Oh fuck off. Can't you see she's not well?

Blurry eyes, nails scratched by the cement. Too much noise. Why won't it just fade away?

I don't give two flaming fucks if she's dying of the plague. Your dumb bitch ran right into me, got gravy smeared all over my new white shirt. She retarded or something? You got to feed the idiot ones with a spoon you stupid prick. Now I'm gonna wash these stains out with her pretty blue blood, and unless you want to make it all American with your candy-ass juice, I highly recommend you fuck off.

Back the fuck off, pal. I'm dead serious.

Vriska pushed herself onto her side to try and see just what was happening. Everything was still just dreary blurs. The naked feeling on her face suddenly struck her. Her glasses must have fallen off. She paps the ground around her and find them lenses down in a puddle of her own booze and bile. Useless pieces of shit. They're all scratched up too. There's a crack, and a spear of hot pain in her hand. The now-broken glasses dug into her palm with broken shards of glass and metal. Another victim of her infernal eight-ball habit. She tossed the useless spectacles aside and squinted down the alley with her strong eye. Four figures stood before John, an oliveblood in a white shirt that sported a single speck of gravy, two humans, and a tiny, needle-y looking white carapacian.

Vriska saw the first punch coming; even squinted through a seven-pupiled eyeball without her glasses she picked up on the kinesthetics. John, lacking years of FLARPing and most of his combat expertise in the form of giant game constructs, got struck square in the face before he could flinch. John staggered back a full four steps. The punch had hit him right in the buck teeth and his mouth was already bleeding badly. He didn't take out his hammer. He didn't call up the Breeze. He just spat some of the blood to the ground and put up his fists in some stupid pose probably gleamed from a movie somewhere. The guy could swing a hammer the weight of a safe like it was a load of bread, but his first punch was easily ducked, and his bravado earned him a fist right in the kidney, pushing him back a second time, but he didn't go down. Did he seriously plan to just let this chump exhaust himself trying to whittle down the gel viscosity of a god?

Vriska unsteadily pushed herself to her feet.

Fucking John and his f8cking fairness.

She muttered. She couldn't see the light, not like Lalonde, but she knew it was there. All she had to do was just, reach out and take it.

The olive-blood saw Vriska rise, and his face twisted into a snarl. Maybe he'd decided to try and hit his foe somewhere else that hurt. He'd probably seen his share of stubborn idiots. Vriska bared her fangs at him. The instant he locked eyes with her, his luck was drained. By the time he took the first step towards her, he was already dead.

Vriska, no!

The punk troll, mistaking the intent of the plea, shoved John aside and broke into a run. Four steps in; he stepped on Vriska's discarded glasses, slipped, and fell airborne. The glasses shot off from the pressure, and struck a weak point of the pipe on the side of the building. The pipe burst, and in a rain of hot water a section shot out to be embedded in an exposed patch of dirt i the cement, right where the hooligan's head was about to land.

The heavens roared with the mighty gale-winds. A blast caught the errant troll mid-fall and flung him into his companions. A counterblast lifted Vriska up and held her aloft. John stepped forward, clad in his divine vestments and shrouded in whipping winds. The remains of Vriska's glasses shot forward, and stopped right in front of his face, then vanished into his wallet sylladex. She scratched his brow sheepishly.

Ah geez, I can be so stupid sometimes.

Without a backwards glance, he leapt up into the air, grabbed Vriska in his arms and flew off into the night.

 


	2. The Night of Union

Is your place near here?

My hive stem is over there.

She pointed to an apartment block in the distance, and pushed her face into his chest. He smelled of fresh mushrooms and clean morning dew, not a single trace of the city's much and grime upon him. It was the middle of winter and he still carried the smell of spring.

The quiet trip was over quick, and John set Vriska down on her balcony so she could unlock the door. Rather than get out her keys she just kicked it in and stumbled inside.

D8n't worry a8out it.

She her voice cracked. 

Lock d8n't work anyway.

John shut the door after himself, and embraced Vriska from behind. Her icy skin shivered at the touch. She smelled like oil and fumes, like sugar that had burned instead of caramelized.

I f8cked up. C8n't a8scond, 8itch, always gotta go for the killing 8low.

I shouldn't have scared you like that.

John nuzzled her neck. He could feel her racing pulse against his cheek. 

I thought I'd make it dramatic, get you caught up in the moment and forget, impress you. I didn't think how it would look to you. Real fucking smooth, Egbert.

It looked like crap.

Vriska put up no resistance as John led her from behind. The apartment had a standardized layout, seen one seen em all. He took her down the cluttered hall to to the bathroom. 

First thing tomorrow night I'm teaching you go to streetf8t.

Streetfate?

Shut up, you know what I mean

She nudged his ribs with her elbow and chuckled. It came out something like a cawing cough. 

You wanna 8e the goody-goody street renegade that don't need no godhood, 8uckle up.

Easy there, popeye. Let's just get you cleaned up.

What did you say a8out my eye?

They stepped into the bathroom, and John flicked on the light. The pallid tiles were like ice, even through their shoes. John snapped is fingers, and a warm breeze circled the room.

Classy

Hehehe

He placed both hands on her shoulders and pulled down her jacket. With no laundry basket in sight, John just tossed it into a corner.

Can't I just wash up in the evening?

No way. Gravy smells horrible if you leave it out, let alone sleep in it. I can't let you got to bed like this.

You mind? It's so rude to dict8 hygiene procedure to a lady. Under any circumstance! Even for dorky loudmouths with delusions of responsibility.

See, that's the spirit. But really, we need to get you cleaned.

She gave a low whine, but didn't put up much fight as he peeled off her shirt. Her back tensed up from exposure to the open air, the muscles shifting slightly under the skin. John tossed her only-slightly stained shirt in the corner with her jacket, and took the opportunity to turn on the bath's hot tap. The running water gently bounced about the room. He turned back around. Vriska stood, naked from the waist up, one arm across her chest and her other hand on her hip. He doesn't draw attention to the blue dash on her arm, where she'd had an allergic reaction to bleach. She swayed slightly where she stood.

You need a hand getting out of those pants?

You need an invitation for getting your hand into them?

Vriska waggled her eyebrows. John laughed and wrinkled his nose.

Have you been watching terrible pay per view porn? Or do you come up with these lines yourself?

John splashed his hand in the fast-filling tub, getting a feel for its temperature.

My lines are the 8est lines ever penned. You are completely 8esmitten, 8ow 8efore the king of thieves.

Yes, your highness.

John shook the water from his hand and got down on one knee. 

Now come on, or do you want to have a soak with your pants on?

You're such a little perv, John.

I assure you I'm completely serious about this. A nice, hot, relaxing bath. That I must suffer a bit of an eyeful is a worthy cost.

Vriska raised her brow.

I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'll give you your privacy.

John stood up, and turned to leave.

W8.

She snatched his wrist from his side mid-turn. 

It's fine. You can stay.

You sure?

Sheesh, I already said you could.

In demonstration she hooked her thumbs in the waist of her jeans and yanked them all the way down to her knees. The ridges of her pelvis framed the tight, black curls of her pubic bush.

Fuck-fucking hell Vriska, just get in the damn bath.

His eyes locked straight on hers and his rising blush breached the territory of his glasses frames. She stepped out of her jeans, laughing the whole time, stepped into the bath and slowly slid down. Once immersed in water her whole body slumped, like she'd been a paper bag filled with air that water refused to let stay retained.

So much for our nice human d8.

It’s okay, these things happen, you know?

John tracked down the small plastic container beside the tub and used it to douse water from the bath over her knotted hair.

8ut I owed you a good d8.

She kept her eyes closed as steaming hot water was spilled down her face and the contours of her back. It stole away her oil, but her alien flesh stubbornly refused to warm so easily. 

You never did 8ring it up, huh. Why was that?

Bring what up?

The d8 we agreed on. Don't tell me you forget it.

Nah, although I admit I figured you might have. It didn't seem right to go dragging up some long ago thing like that, like some contract or whatever you had to fulfill. That'd just be messed up.

John looked about for a hairbrush, but found only a snapped off handle. In the absence of a complete implement he thrust his bare hands in Vriska's hair, embedded them in her matted black locks and methodically rubbed her scalp. Maneuvering around her chipped and cracked horns. Two curved weapons reaching for the sky. I give up. He says nothing of the scarred-over gash at the base of the one shaped like a stinger.

I guess we both get hung up on the dum8est things.

Who doesn't?

Don't g8t rh8torical with me.

She mumbled, but quickly descended into a moan as John's fingers kneaded the skin of her crown. Her hair snared his finger in a half-woven trap. it took a few moments gentle precision to remove it.

Jeez this is filthy. When was the last time you washed your hair?

Oh fuck you. I can't be assed getting shampoo and useless stuff like that.

As opposed to?

You know useful stuff. Takeaway when too lazy to cook. Alcohol just when. 8ri8es.

He moved his hands down to her neck and her shoulders. He had little clue as to what he was doing, and so used her gasps and moans to guide his fingers.

Where are you going?

How the hell should I know?

Where do you want to go?

I dunno. Someplace fun, and nice.

He pressed his thumbs into the knots in her shoulders. She arched her back, chest thrust forward at his touch. Much of the god-thief's body bore the worn and torn signs of ill maintenance, physical echoes of the divine spirit.

I'm sure you'll find it if you keep looking.

He moved his hands further down her back, digging into the coils of persistent tension. As he inexpertly worried out each kernel of knotted muscle, her body relented to the spreading heat and her skin became warm against his.Upon working down to the small of her back, John ceased his calmant and began to wash her body. Her push-top bottle of soap had long since been depleted. To make do, he unscrewed the cap, dunked it below the water and let what little residue remain be swept out into the bath. He stirred the water three times, and caressed her arm with both hands. Vriska sighed, and let him raise her arm up. With alternating strokes he stroked his palms down both the top and bottom of her arm, rinsing off the grime from her bony, branch-like limb. He squeezed her hand when he reached the end, and repeated the action on the arm's opposite. She giggled in mild irritation when he, raising both her arms up, ran his fingers through the short hairs of her underarms before continuing down her sides. He tapped out the opening measures of a soft adagio on the keys of he ribs, which made her squirm in a rather pleasing way. She squeaked when he feathered the rest of the way down her sides, and sighed again when he brought his hands together over the flat of her belly. Her breasts only tempted him to linger for a few extra moments before continuing his ascent to the horizon of her collarbone, where he wrapped his arms around her in a reversed embrace, leaned forward and brushed his teeth across her earlobe.

She flinched, and her whole body became as iron. His hot breath flowed against her ear, across her cheek.

We can stop here.

He pulled away, giving her space. Her hand went to his arm

W8t. Just w8t a second. I can keep up so don't go. just w8t.

She breathed long and deep, enough to make ripples with her movement. John remained still, but relaxed, and waited quietly

Okay. Keep going. Hurry it up.

You sure?

I already said you could.

She rolled her shoulders back like a sweep of a steam train's wheel set and gave a huffy sigh. John snickered, and unclasped his hands.

He traced the contours of her chest, around her nearly flat breasts and along the swells of her abdominals. He caressed her inner thighs, stroked up to the sides of her knees and gently spread her legs till they rested on the bath's cool ceramic edges. He skied his fingers back down her thighs, making her abdomen twitch. One hand continued to gently caress her thigh, while the other he gently placed upon her bristled mound. He rolled the flat of his palm back and forth over the curve of her crotch. She cooed at his rubbing, both her groin and her thigh. She wriggled slightly, a different kind of heat blooming in her body. She gripped the sides of the bath, and rocked her hips into his hand. He rubbed his fingers through her thick, wiry pubic hair, then dipped a finger down and stroked the length of her slit. A few trickles of blue fluid clouded into the water. He circled her clit with the tip of his index finger, brushing its sides with each pass, before giving a quick upward flick right across it. A spark shot through her. Vriska hissed and almost lost her grip on the bath's sides. He dipped his hand back down, and with two fingers gently parted her pussy lips. With the coordination of a pianist, his used a third finger to slowly tease her entrance, and his thumb to rub the hood of her clit.

Jooooooohn

She wriggled harder, making the water splash up the sides. John traced with his other hand a two finger path from her thigh to her chest. he pinched and tweaked and rolled her gray nipple to hardness between his fingers. His other hand continued the multi-front torment on her pussy, and Vriska thought she heard him hum a chord progression in time with his ministrations, at least until he pulled her closed and nibbled on the nape of her neck. She gasped, thick and husky when he pushed a dexterous finger inside of her. He wormed his way in deeper, seeing how far he could go. When satisfied with his depth, John crooked his finger up and dragged it out along the top of her vaginal wall till only his first knuckle was still inside her, when he pushed all the way back in again.

Th8. Th8t. Do that ag8in.

She squirmed in his arm, her voice caught in her throat every time he gave her nipple and squeeze and she was sure he was timing it just to make her look silly. He repeated the motion inside of her, and she rolled her head back against his chest and moaned with abandon.

R8t there. Ke8p going.

He quickened his pace, pumping in and out of her with his crooked finger while the rest of his hand danced circles on her inflamed lips and clit. He gave her nipple a final, hard pinch that made her squeak, then turned her head to his and kissed her full, weathered lips. Her eyes went wide, and she writhed around beneath him, but his arms had her caged, and her thrashing only served to stimulate her pussy even more. He slid a second finger into her pussy, filling her even further. When she moaned he bit her lower lip, and ran his fingers through her hair.

As soon as her orgasm started, she let go of the bath and threw her arms around herself and clamped down, hugging herself tight. John leaned closer and murmured nonsense in her ear between nipping and kissing her cheek and neck. She kicked and squirmed and moaned through clenched teeth, and thick blue fluid splashed over John's hand. Short, hard jets of genetic fluid shot into the water, billowing out in murky clouds. The trollcum stained water lapped against the bath's sides and her own thighs, washing her in her own sexual fluids. For the first time in her life Vriska got a glimpse of how Equius felt every waking moment of his existence. With his arms and the breeze, John lifted her out the bath even though she was still coming, and she squeaked in breathless protest. Fluid stained water dripped from her body. A final shot of thick, goopy juice flowed from her pussy down between her ass cheeks, and spilled over John’s hand supporting her butt. More of the breeze lifted her lower half, allowing him to inspect his hand without dropping her. He spread is fingers, and her fluid formed ropes between them. He sniffed them. Vriska felt like every cell in her body was under scrutiny. He stuck three fingers in his mouth and lapped up her cum from his fingers, and Vriska nearly pailed herself again right there.

"The water's gone cold." He chuckled, and brushed some hair from her eye. Rather than towel her down, John set to work with a warm, dry breeze. For Vriska, it was like being assailed by hundreds of little paintbrushes. Her whole body was swept over, the small of her back, behind her ears, her flat chest and flatter belly. She yelped when a particularly adventurous gust of wind tickled against her asshole once over. It was all too stimulating to relax, and too relaxing to get aroused. Vriska compromised with just squirming mid-air in nonspecific pleasure as she was lifted through her house.

John carried her through her hive. The breeze brushed aside the d4's, dirty laundry, and takeaway containers in his path. He halted when he reached what, according to the default house design, should have been the bedroom.

Where's your recuperacoon? Don't you need it to sleep?

He frowned, eyes cast about the densely cluttered room. There was a couch, and a computer desk, and everything else was just posters and piles of random crap.

H8 sleep.

But don't trolls need the slime?

H8 that too.

The breeze gently drops her into his arms, and he holds her tight. A slight eddy of wind strokes her hair. They fell together on to the couch that smelled of musty paper and old cheese. John planted a tender kiss on her forehead.

Maybe tonight, I can be your slime.

Oh my god, John, you're such a dork.

She laughed and shoved against his chest, but physics were against her and the dark haired boy on top of her hardly moved. She looked past his measurably untamed mullet to the coffee stain on the ceiling she couldn't explain, to the blue stained 'Bad Lieutenant' poster, to the pile of character sheets filled out for campaigns she would never play. You should go. This is no place for you. You deserve more. Deserve. What is 'deserve'? The idea fundamentally opposed to fortune as a distribution method of happiness. What does that mean? To earn or to get lucky? To get lucky and have the chance to earn? Five hundred and twelve minutes since she last stepped on a d4. Where does luck end and omen begin? Vriska squirmed in the couch. Let the cushions swallow her up and bury her.  
John cupped her cheek.

Do you want me to go?

Yes. Yes, you should go. You should go far away and not pay any attention to those condemned trolls. Guilty. Declared guilty and executed by Justice and Purity, even if the execution didn't stick. Should. Should. Should is not the word though. Want. What does the arachnid want? What does the monkey want? The great sage listened to by the heavens. Babylon is fallen, is fallen, and all the graven images of her gods he hath broken unto the ground. Tell you the story about the joker and the thief. Now how does that story go? Let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late

No.

She said from behind the curtain of hair that had fallen on her face. Her hair was always falling everywhere. He brushed her hair aside and kissed her naked black lips. Hot blue blood flooded her face, and pride alone compelled her to return the kiss. She through her arms around him and pushed back with force. Their teeth clinked together, and each pulled away, holding their mouth in their hands.

Ow. F8ck! What the hell?

Vriska, ow, this is a kiss, not ramming speed.

There was a few moments quiet, then they both broke into laughter. They laughed until their eyes grew wet, but the laughter did not stop Vriska's shivering.

Let's try again.

They pressed their lips to each other, savoring the quiet, lingering contact. It was just flesh washed with spit, but the mind colored the sensation, and seemed to give it flavor. They broke apart with a hungry gasp.

This isn't fair at all. I'm naked on my couch with fibers clinging to my 8utt, and you're still in your little godly jim-jams. Where's my eyeful?

With a laugh and a shrug, John unequipped his divine vestments, leaving him completely naked on top of her. Vriska's heart thudded against her chest. His slightly more than moderately muscled arms held his bare chest aloft over her. Dark body hair decorated his chest, arms, and trailed a line down the slightly plump belly of someone with a sweet tooth. Below his belly hung his fully erect cock. It was more or less average length, but above average girth, and straining against the skin's limits like his arousal might literally burst. Vriska Serket got her eyeful and seven more on top of that. He took his glasses off his face, vanished them into his sylladex, and smiled.

Sorry, I guess I'm a bit out of shape.

Shut up and get down here.

She moved her hands to the small of her back and pulled him onto her. The heat of his dick felt marvelous against her belly, and she pulled him in for another kiss. his time she was careful to open her mouth for it, her fang-like incisors pressed hard against his upper lip but John didn't seem to mind. He placed a hand on her barely-there breast and rolled her slight swell in his palm. His other hand went to her bushy thatch, still sensitive from her earlier orgasm, and gently stroked her coarse, hairy mound.

John

Her fluid came easily, sticking to his fingers and dribbling down the couch.

Are you ready?

Just hurry up.

He lifted up her hips and shuffled back down the couch so his thick penis rested against the entrance to her fuzzy snatch.

Are you sure?

I already said so, didn't I?

He rubbed the tip of his dick up and down her labia, the breeze holding him in alignment, and not until Vriska whined with desperate need did he insert himself. As soon as his engorged head popped inside, Vriska clenched and moaned, her candy corn nails digging into his back and tearing through the skin with ease. He hissed and arched his back, driving him deeper into her folds. He remained still, panting for a few seconds, before taking hold of both her arms and planting them by her side.

Sorry but that's really distracting.

Vriska pouted and tried to free her arms, but the Heir's strength surpassed hers. He leaned down and kissed her again, and heat bloomed through her body. She opened her eyes, and saw him looking longingly upon her.

W8. W8 w8 w8 w8 w8. Shouldn't we, turn out the lights or something?

And steal from me the light of you?

It was sappy and saccharine and it made her face glow near neon blue in blush. She struggled to move her arms, to cover her face with her hands, but John was having none of it. He kissed a trace of weeping from her cheek.

If I'm going to have you, I want all of you or none of you. You shouldn't try to sell me short little thief.

What that another dumb line from a dumber movie?

Her voice quavered, and came in fast, halting breaths. he was inside her, and that was one thing, but he was looking at her, looking, and it wasn't invasive like Terezi's or accusing like Karkat's it was just there, looking, seeing what she was showing and somehow slipping her up and making her show more. Beneath his smiling blue eyes Vriska felt a bug caught in the gaze of some prince's dream. Who was dreaming and who was dreamt? Who would be there at the wake?

Vriska clenched and unclenched her thighs. John cupped her cheek and kissed her again, and when she relaxed he slid his length from her right to the tip. The sudden absence felt incredibly empty. Vriska squirmed and writhed, trying to lock her legs around his waist and pull him back in but her legs were pinned by his and it wasn't until he decided to that she felt filled again.

John!

She cried out shamelessly when he pushed back insider her, filling her with his thickness. Little breezes flicked across her this way and that, brushing across her nipples, tickling her navel. Shifting their limbs, he took her hands in his and thrust again, calling out her name distorted by a moan that sounded like 'Vreeshk'. She squeezed his hands and leaned her head forward. He saw her eager need and kissed her on the lips as he thrust again. Blue juices slicked his cock, and the whole room filled with the scent and sound of their sex. Heavy breathing, panting, eager longing. Moisture on moisture and the growing buzz of little winds. South winds teased her left breast, north with her right. East and West wind played with her hair. A small, strong Blast went between her and the couch to rub her back and an equally small counterblast rubbed her belly. A typhoon massaged her feet, a hurricane pleasured her thighs and a tempest swarmed her clit. Devil-wind tickled her anus and frost wind playfully nipped at her nipples. A gale lifted them from the couch, and a tornado stroked her arms and sides. Over stimulation threatened to conquer her, and she squeezed john's hands for dear life. There rose the thirteen winds and all the while he kept thrusting into her, plunging into her innermost again and again with his cock. There was not a square inch of her body attended in some way. She gasped and moaned and shrieked and cried out as he played her quiet and loud, piano forte, like some living sexual instrument that was his to command. He kissed her again, and his tongue snaked inside her mouth, tickling her teeth, lapping at her spittle and exploring her depths. He filled her touch, filled her taste, filled her sound and filled her sight with his big, blue, earnest eyes. Not a single part of Vriska Serket escaped his adoration.

She couldn't possible last long against such an assault, and all too quickly her body bucked mid-air and hot, blue fluid began spurting front her exalted cunt. It splashed over John's dick annd his thighs and his balls and his crotch, and dripped down below them to be caught by the eager winds that served his every whim. A not-quite bubble of sexual fluid swelled up beside them containing all her captured juices, and the sight of it filled her with pride and shame at the physical proof of how good he made her feel.

Vriska, I-

He plunged himself deep inside of her, as deep as he could go, filling her twitching cunt with his all. His thrusts became fast and shallow, keeping his dick far in her innermost. His cum, hot like fire, spilled within her, and the feeling of his dick twitching inside her was like a lamp being lit. She kissed him hard, didn't care when her teeth poked his gums, just wanted to escalate the feeling. To prolong the sensations of physical evidence of making him feel good. Selfishly seeking that unselfish sensation. Wanting to feel wanted. She slipped in her kiss and bit down on her lip, splitting it open. She kissed him again, dripping her blood in his mouth, not caring why. Her body was molten and he was the cause, his body was on a furnace and she was the cause and that’s all that matters, and they stayed like this, two beings aflame, longer than time cared to remember.

The breeze carried the bulk of their fluids away and dumped it down the loadgaper, though John would be lying if he said he hadn't considered dumping it out the window on some poor passerby's head. The winds lowered them to the couch, and vanished away, leaving just two lovers alone in a shitty apartment. Vriska could still feel his half-hard cock inside of her, but the breeze had swept away the sweat and cum from their bodies. The dorky Heir lay on top of her, looking down on her in adoration. She, arms now free, pulled him down for a gentle kiss. She had never felt so clean before in her entire life.


End file.
